Legal Post-Script

July 2, 2017: For my neighbors, who've been hearing me shouting in pain over the last few weeks, that is the sound of my brain being ripped apart by online violations of my work. The main culprit this time appears to have been the crew of that dirty production, whose pylons were marked 'Rogue' Productions - see my poem Rogue's Paradise - and whose attempt to extend their crime to my very doorstep was shut down by authorities last Thursday morning. While this is reassuring, it is a big mistake to think that such a show of defensive force will slow down further offenses against me. The stars who stole my work are rich, and now they like to spend their dirty money financing such destructive, criminal enterprises against the talent to whom they owe their fortunes. That's why I'm disappointed with our legal system for not being able to freeze their assets, and I bet Rogue Productions was financed by the dick signed fraud band, Nickleback, or as I call them Diamondback. Also, I am staying offline more and more, which gives online offenders more confidence when they steal my things and tell lies about me. I can't get my ipod working and I doubt I will post any more videos to George Carlin's YouTube, so if you're not going to seize the ipod I so foolishly gave to Roxanna in 2009, in order to stop her from posting videos of other people in illegal possession of my music in my name, do at least flag her filth wherever you see it popping up. And I'm not sure if that woman who stole my hit (Motion Cautionary, right? I'm not wearing the suspenders for fashion but to ease the pressure on my poor dying kidneys) was lined up to play a show for Canada Day yesterday, as Taylor Swift's fraud was honored here in 2013, but I heard that she was busted. Also, I think it's time to check outside servers and see how many infringements are being committed by all those who translate my work into other languages, such as Cantonese and/or Mandarin, and then claim it as their own. I won't be sharing any more comedy or music until I can get paid for it myself, which might well be never, judging from the miserable results of my eighteen years on the internet up to this unpaid point. I'm here to update my Chronoblog with more references to my Coats from the Lost and Found blog. None of these offenders want to talk about God or the universe or ethics or anything big like that, eh? They just want to talk about puny things, like their puny careers, or maybe they want to take a fraction of a puny topic being shared by millions through the TV, like some trivial trend, and make it even punier by talking about it themselves. Yes, puny people talk about puny things - consider that an original maxim. I wish these bores would expand their intellectual horizons a bit so that I wouldn't stand out so much and end up falling prey to so many copyright infringements. And who said I 'gave up'? Yes, I gave up blogging just like I gave up smoking. It's been a real challenge to my willpower, but I know I can stay offline, like I should have done from the outset. 12:13 ATTENTION POLICE/COPYRIGHT ENFORCERS: What do they mean I logged in from another location? What kind of criminal slime is going on right now in this store? Did someone just log in to fuck with my post here? I'm leaving now at 12:16 pm. I'll add this post to my statements index later. 12:43pm: So are we all clear about who went to jail again? Why did I have to come back to defend myself after I said I wanted to stay offline? And are the crooked stars who sponsor all this crime and hate around here pleased to send their pawns to jail so that they can lie and say I was the one who went to jail? And what are you ad people trying to do to me with your slogans? Kill me with bad taste? 'RefreSHing' for Shweppes Ginger Ale? How many other words have 'sh' in them? Not very clever. At least the slogan about how money can buy happiness as long as you're shopping in the right places doesn't try to be unnecessarily clever. No, it just wants to contradict my post on the topic, as well negate the Word of God, and fill all our heads with unspeakable evil. So, does anyone with talent make any money dreaming up creative works here in Goldie Hawn's and Nickleback's Vancouver, or do such artists always end up hanging themselves, like my old friend, surrounded by mountains of examples of their publicly neglected genius, like his paintings and like my songs, poems, and works of humor? I'll be back to add to this the next time I need to defend my image and for no other reason.
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